


We Killed the Dinosaurs, Darling

by ohitsLan



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29545743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohitsLan/pseuds/ohitsLan
Summary: this is essentially a shitty heathers summary so i can practice writing lol
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	We Killed the Dinosaurs, Darling

Jason Dean was strange. No, he was beyond strange. He simply wasn’t right in the head.

There was something slightly unsettling about the way his hands trembled when he talked or how his tone always seemed off putting that contributed to these rumors.

Jason Dean just wasn’t a good person. Hell, half of Westerberg High was convinced the guy wasn’t human. He had to be a devil in disguise, right? From what Veronica had overheard in the flimsy stalls of her school bathroom, Jason Dean was a psychopath; a guy who crossed the line of ‘hot bad boy’ and bordered over into the realm of a complete nut job. He was the kind of guy you had to be cautious around.

Still, something about him was intriguing.

Something about the way a trench coat hung loosely over toned shoulders and the way slicked back hair sometimes fell across a pair dangerous eyes had Veronica Sawyer reeling. 

And her feelings were only further manipulated when Jason had told her to call him, “J.D.” God, why did that sound so perfect when it rolled off her tongue. 

Veronica didn’t care about the teasing that erupted from the Heathers when she confessed her crush to them. She didn’t heed the warnings or pay the slightest attention to the jokes they made. Why would she? All the Heathers ever did was judge people anyways. Veronica never even stopped to consider they could be right about this one.

Jason wasn’t crazy. Veronica was positive about that. J.D. was simply an opinionated man with a traumatic background. He was a guy who hated fake people; a guy who didn’t appreciate the Heathers; a guy who was just like Veronica.

It was okay to hate people. Veronica called Heather Chandler a bitch all the time behind her back, so how did it make J.D. a psycho when he said it? It didn’t, she concluded, because he couldn’t be a psycho. He just couldn’t.

But god did this boy have an affect on her. 

At one point in her life, Veronica could have sworn she was the image of a good girl, the kind of girl with perfect grades, a perfect smile, and a perfect reputation; not the kind of girl who had just recently puked on her so called best friend’s shoes, and most certainly not the kind of girl who stood outside of J.D.’s window with only one thought on her brain.

When had her life escalated to this? When was the internal shift from pillow fight infested sleepovers with Martha Dunnstock to breaking into her crush’s bedroom after curfew.

Veronica couldn’t think about it. Her brain was too fuzzy with the affects of alcohol and hormones. Her judgement was too cloudy with the clash of J.D.’s teeth against her neck, his hands roaming her skin. 

Maybe Veronica was the psychopath. Maybe she was the one who had gone nuts. After all, she was the one desperately peeling off her blouse. She was the one losing her mind to the feeling of euphoria. She was the one who was going to be absolutely ruined on Monday.

The worst part was the lack of regret. It was waking up in his arms and feeling good. It was looking in the mirror, seeing the hickeys draped across her neck and shoulders, and feeling loved. It was the being sore in the morning as they trudged to Heather Chandler’s house, hand it hand.

It was the standing over her best friend’s limp body.

And Holy shit she was standing over her best friend’s limp body.

Holy shit she just killed someone.

And now she was forging her friend’s writing as Jason told her what to write for a staged suicide note. Veronica Swayer was faking her best friend’s suicide note.

Her head was swarming as Jason lead her out of the house. What had she done? What had Jason done?

A part of her was concerned with how easily J.D. had come up with the idea of staging a suicide, of how easy it had been for him to come up with the words for it. 

It was almost like he was experienced with this.

Veronica found herself brushing off the thought along with the thousands of other doubts she’d had.

No, it was all an accident. J.D. was just as much at fault as she was. He was equally at blame with her. But that didn’t stop the guilt that nagged at her or the nightmares that replayed Heather’s death on the restless nights.

It seemed like every night was a restless night now.

It seemed like every night she could see the faint outline of Heather Chandler in her doorway every time she tried to sleep.

It seemed like every night, the image of an unnatural blue dripping in a drool from sculpted, perfected lips tainted her vision each time she closed her eyes.

But it only got worse.

It only got worse as she found herself sitting cross legged on her bed, Jason holding two bullets in his palm.

Ich Lüge bullets, he called them. They weren’t fatal; they just caused unconscious.

Some Ich Lüge bullets as they were lodged into Ram and Kurt’s chests. 

Veronica could only watch in horror as the two jocks fell to the ground, lifeless. 

That was three people now.

Veronica Sawyer had helped Jason Dean kill three people. 

As much as she didn’t want to believe it, she was starting to come to terms with the fact that they were crazy. Or at least they weren’t sane. Sane people didn’t kill their best friend. Sane people didn’t kill two more people afterwards just because they were pissed off. Actually, sane people didn’t kill people at all, and they didn’t forge those same dead peoples’ suicide notes to get away with it. 

So Veronica ended things with Jason.

He wasn’t happy. He was furious, really, but Veronica wanted to try to be normal, even if she couldn’t share that normality with Jason. 

And things were normal. 

For a little while.

Until Veronica saw Heather Duke walking around with some sort of petition. Worse, Jason Dean was working with Heather Duke to get that petition signed.

From either jealousy or suspicion, Veronica didn’t know, but she had to investigate further, right? She was convinced at this point that J.D. was not a good guy, and Veronica would be damned if she let anyone else die because of him. 

She would be damned if anyone else died.

Before she knew it, she found herself in a faux noose, hanging from her ceiling fan as Jason paced around her room, ranting about wanting to tear everything down. No, not tear things down, blow things up. 

And just like that, in a flash of black, the man was gone, and Veronica was now hurrying after him in the hopes of stopping him.

God, if she lived, she would have some badass stories to tell her grandkids. 

And badass is what she felt like as she dragged herself into the boiler room of her own high school. Badass is what she felt like as she shot off the mans middle finger and he staggered to the front of the school in defeat.

It didn’t make her psychotic if she shot a bad person, right?

Surely not, she thought as an ear piercing boom sounded, and her boyfriend, no, ex boyfriend, no high school shit storm, disappeared from her life.

Veronica was free now.

As free as she could be with whatever the hell her senior year resulted in. 

So here Veronica stood with a cigarette dangling loosely from her lips, hip to hip with Martha Dunnstock. The more she thought about it, it was almost funny.

Martha Dunnstock and Veronica Sawyer: two people whom The Heathers ruined.

“Hey Martha?” She questioned, wrapping a loose arm around the back of Martha’s wheelchair.

“What?”

“You free tonight?”

**Author's Note:**

> congrats you made it ❤️


End file.
